


you’re a sunflower (I think your love would be too much)

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Cissie & Bart are wlw/mlm solidarity so jot that down, Coming Out, Gen, Heteronormativity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: Growing up in an apocalyptic wasteland doesn't leave a whole lot of room for self-reflection and figuring out who you are. Bart makes up for lost time.Or, if Season 3 won't give us Bart's coming out/the on-screen Edbarto romance we deserve, I guess it's up to me.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which romance eludes Bart. For now.

"Um. _Earth to Torq_." Bart coughs, side-eying the controller dangling loosely from his hand. "You are going to be obliterated in T-minus 2 seconds."

"Perdita texted me," Gar responds, smiling down at his phone. Bart winces at his player's bombastic demise as it explodes across the screen. "I don't want her to think I'm too busy to talk."

Bart doesn't understand that leap of logic, since Gar _is_ busy at the moment. Maybe, he supposes, the final level of Intergalactic Razor Invaders isn't top priority for everyone.

Gar taps at his phone, growing increasingly dopey. He seems to realize this, blushes, and shoves the device back into pocket. "We're friends," he says, abruptly. 

"Yeah, I getcha."

"We're just friends," he repeats, as if there's room for misconception.

"Okay," Bart says, distractedly.

"But she _is_ pretty," Gar sighs in a dreamy voice. "Maybe the prettiest girl in the world."

"I guess?" He hasn't given the question much thought. Perdita is sweet for sure (she offered Bart her condolences at Wally's funeral, even though she's a queen and Bart is literally _no_ _one_ in this time _,_ certainly no replacement for the guy who saved her life). He has no opinion regarding her physical attractiveness. 

Gar shakes his head, glancing at Bart like a lost cause. "Forget it," he mutters. "You'll get it when you're older."

"Dude, we're the same age!" Bart complains, but Gar's already back on his phone, tuning him out. Whatever, he’s got bigger things on his mind.

Namely, the intergalactic invaders and their razor arms.

*

*

*

*

"Ugh, and last week, I caught Robin and Cassie _kissing_. Again," Bart gags. "I know they're dating, and I'm happy for 'em, _but_. Do they have to be sucking faces every chance they get?"

Maybe Gar was right. Maybe he doesn't get the whole romance thing. Once, Virgil had joked that he and Cissie would make a cute couple, and Jaime had agreed, yet Bart couldn't even fathom the idea. Him and _Cissie?_ Him and any girl didn't make sense. 

Iris nods along to his story, staring at the road in front of her. When her eyes catch his in the mirror, however, she dissolves into laughter. So _not_ the solidarity he was searching for here. 

"It was the team's movie night," Bart moans. "I was trying to find the popcorn!"

"Oh, Bart. Just try to be supportive," Iris advises. A smile crinkles the corner of her lips. He tries hard to think of his father – the older version that exists only in his earliest memories. He can't remember if his smile crinkled, too.

"Besides, you may feel differently about this stuff one day. Wally was around your age when he–"

The car swings to a halt at the red light, as does all conversation inside. Iris tightens her knuckles minutely around the steering wheel, the creases around her mouth sharpening with sorrow. After a year and a half, the wound of Wally's absence remains a tender subject, so much that sometimes they _forget_. Bart tries to fill the void as best he can, much as he does as Kid Flash, but a misplaced grandson from the future is a poor substitute for a beloved nephew. 

They spend only a couple of seconds in the unbearable silence, but to Bart, it's an eternity.

"Light's taking too long," he says in a rush. "I think I'll just run the rest of the way. ThanksanywayGran!" 

He arrives to school in record time. But in his haste, Bart left behind his backpack.

"Typical," he mutters, right as the first bell rings.

*

*

*

*

"Dude, I thought we were going to a carnival!" 

Star Labs looms in the distance, confirming Bart's suspicions. Jaime must want to spend their precious Friday night doing something _educational_.

"Nobody said carnival," Jaime retorts. "You kept asking if we could _go_ to a carnival, while I ignored you."

He holds open the door with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. Bart drags his feet, because well, if he's being treated like a petulant child, he may as well play the part. 

"C'mon, I bet I have a trillion better ideas for what we could do tonight! More fun than..."

Bart trails off. After-hours, the first floor of the Star Labs is mostly deserted, except for one room, where he can hear the distant murmur of chatter. Outside, a sign reads: _Meta Human Support Group_ _. Tonight at 6._

"Than dealing with our collective traumas?" Jaime tries for a joke, and fails, miserably, when Bart won't respond. He recognizes a trap when he sees one. Granted, a trap of good intentions. 

"Do you come here often?" he asks quietly, because that's safer ground, and because he genuinely thought Jaime was over the worst of his Reach-related nightmares. It pains him to think his role in the almost-Apocalypse haunts him still.

"Not so much anymore," Jaime admits. "But you can find these meetings at any Star Labs location nowadays. It's a place where we can talk about this meta-human stuff and people will actually understand. You know?"

His hand covers Bart's shoulder, and, feeling the rigidity, he squeezes. His own shoulders sag with defeat. 

"Look, _hermano,"_ sighs Jaime, staring at Bart with a softness that makes his chest tighten. "You don't have to come in, if you don't want. And with everything going on, well... I think it'd be good for you."

"Why?" Bart flashes a picture-perfect grin. "I'm crash as can be."

Jaime frowns, his mouth taut with concern. It should be concerning Bart that his lying skills are not nearly as effective as they used to be.

"You sure? Because you can talk to me, if things aren't so crash."

"To you," Bart nods. "Not... To a room full of strangers."

Sensing the lost cause, Jaime relents. "I'll catch up with you later," he says, a promise and a warning. _Stay out of trouble until I'm done_. 

As if Bart’s his little sister or something. Indignant, he watches Jaime disappear through the doorway. Lingers for a moment, wondering if he should go in, or if he should trust his instincts and run far, far away. He bets he _could_ find a carnival by the time Jaime is–

"Are you coming?"

Bart whips around, pulse racing. Grife, he’s gotten negligent if people can sneak up on him like that. It shouldn't be pleasant, the idea that he _can_ be complacent, let his guard down. His mom would balk. Complacency is death sentence where he's from.

"Relax, amigo!" says the culprit, struggling not to laugh. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Could've fooled me," Bart pants. He squints at the maybe not-so stranger. "Hey, I know you. You're..."

"Ed," he says. As the seconds tick by, and Bart shows no sign of recollection, his confidences wanes. _"Eduardo_. We met at Virgil’s birthday?"

How could he forget? It was the first birthday party he ever attended, and he was so overwhelmed with everything, all the new customs, and _cake_ , that he hadn't paid much attention to the guests. Otherwise, he would've remembered Ed and sweet tilt of his smile.

"My man, mi amigo, _Ed_ , of course! What's up?"

Revived by Bart's enthusiasm, the wattage of his smile increases. Ed gestures at the group meeting room. "Business as usual."

Some of his excitement dissipates. "Oh. You're here for this, too?"

"I'm leading the session, actually," he replies, a note of pride in his voice. 

Despite his hesitance, Bart is impressed. "That's so crash of you! Now that I think of it, Miss M says you're a rockstar at Taos. With all the work you put in at the center, I'm surprised you have time for low-scale events like this."

"You’d be surprised the good they can do. Low-scale, lowkey. Sometime the kids feel safer here than they do high-tailing it over to Taos." At Bart's expression, Ed quirks a brow. "Not convinced?"

"I believe you," Bart says quickly, returning Ed’s gaze. His stomach does this little swoopy motion when their eyes meet.

"Well?" he prompts, and Bart starts, unaware that he was staring. 

"Huh?"

Ed smirks, not unkindly. "I said, you coming?"

The light, airy feeling in his stomach solidifies into dread.

"No, I..." The pull of the unnamed desire fluttering in his chest gets overwhelmed by a rising tide of anxiety. Bart takes a step back. "Sorry, I've got to run!"

He’s halfway to Keystone City when his heart finally stops pounding, the echo of Ed’s laughter ringing in his ears. 

*

*

*

*

Business as usual is right.

Splitting his time between school, the Garricks, the twins, and the Team leaves plenty of time for video games with his friends, but only because he's the fastest kid alive. And Bart would much rather play for hours than glance at his biology assignment for even a second.

At first it's a mystery to his guardians, who've had two generations of science-prodigy speedsters, and don't quite know what to make of Bart, who can read a book and retain its contents in ten seconds flat, but who can't pay attention in his classes. 

He talks to a guidance counselor, and then a specialist, and then gets a prescription for a thing called ADHD. His history of being poked, prodded and injected with all manner of substances by the Reach doesn't endear him to any drug, so it's an adjustment to accept these are meant to help, _not_ hurt.

They do help him focus, if he remembers to take them. Joan tends to be his reminder, but as of late, she's taken to letting him forget, saying it'll be his responsibility from now now.

It pains him to think of why she might want him to get used to making do without her.

School and Bart don't mix for other reasons. Maybe it’s the sitting in a desk for seven hours a day, which is borderline torture. Maybe he still holds a teeny-tiny grudge from when he first started at Keystone Middle, and the snooty teachers pinned him as slacker, all because of his conduct.

Bart read exceptionally slow for his age, and he occasionally made up a word when the ones on the page were lacking, something his peers found immensely entertaining but his teachers soon tired of. His grandparents and the Garricks chalked it up to Bart being bored, expecting the meds would mend that, too.

He never had the heart to tell them he couldn't read, because nobody had taught him. 

It was never a priority. Bart was born into a resistance that wasn't winning. His mother was more concerned with ensuring he survived long enough to join the fight than she was with him passing grade school. And when he came to the past with his own mission, it wasn't high on his list. 

Then the Reach were gone, Wally was dead, Bart was Kid Flash, and suddenly... Bart had nothing better to do on Sunday evenings than go to Reyes's house for dinner.

His favorite part of these visits, besides Jaime and the food, was his "annoying" little sister, Milagro.

"Your weird friend is here!" she called for Jaime. Every time, without fail. "Stop checking that fuzz above your lip!"

"Shut up! I'll be down in a minute!" he yelled back. 

"He thinks a mustache will get him a girlfriend," Milagro whispered to Bart. "Gross."

"Gross," he agreed. 

_"Mi estu_ **** _pido hermano_ will be forever, so in the meantime, you can read to us," she decided, gesturing to her and her doll. With some trepidation, Bart picked up her book. As he went along, her brows drew together in anger.

"You don't have to read so slow, I'm not a _baby!"_

"No, it's not that!" assured Bart, and, not wanting to upset her again, explained, "I can't read very well, is all."

"Didn't your parents read to you?" She sounded scandalized.

"They didn't get a chance," he admitted, and was grateful when she didn't inquire further. Instead she plucked the book from his hands.

"Papa told me that's the best way to learn," she said, and that was how Jaime found them a couple minutes later, Milagro reading aloud, while Bart listened and read along silently.

Jaime figured it out then, blanching as if it was solelyBlue Beetle’s fault Bart had never received an in-depth ABC lesson. On the condition he didn’t tell the League, and that he wiped that heartbroken expression off his face, Bart conceded to lessons with Jaime at least.

With more than a year of reading under his belt now, Bart decides he definitely prefers the stories Milagro insists on reading with him than the books that his teacher assigns. He’s trying to get through a chapter of H.G. Wells in between his training and debriefing, when he overhears Kaldur and M’gann. It isn’t his fault it’s a more interesting conversation than what’s on the page.

"How's the status of your mission to Bialya?" 

"I'm short a member for the team I'd prefer. Who'd thought flu season, of all things," M’gann huffs. 

"You have to be wise with your selection," Kaldur reminds. "Someone who isn't predisposed to Queen Bee's influence."

"I'll go!" Bart volunteers, although it exposes his eavesdropping. A trip to Bialya sounds _way_ better than a boring stakeout with Robin and Jaime, no offense to his teammates. 

M'gann mulls it over. "Are you sure?" she asks, a bit skeptical.

He shrugs. "I was fine against her before."

"That's true," she concedes, drawing out the answer, as if giving Bart the chance to continue. He's more wary around M'gann than most, always afraid she's going to catch a glimpse of some truth hidden in his mind, away from prying eyes. He doesn't say anything else, his cheery grin hanging by a thread. 

Finally, M'gann glances at Kaldur and nods. "Alright, Bart. Welcome aboard."

"Crash!" Bart crows. He'll take Queen Bee over a stealth recon any day. 

*

*

*

*

_"From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."_

Bart aims a long-suffering sigh at the ceiling. 

"Can't they fall in love already?" he moans, foot tapping against the carpet. "This is taking forever!"

At his complaint, Dox raises his head from where it was nestled in Joan's lap. In apology, Bart scratches behind the dog's ears. 

"If it was easy, it wouldn’t be be any fun to watch," Joan laughs, but it spurs a coughing fit. Her thin shoulders quake in the aftermath, so Bart zips over to the linen closet and grabs her an extra blanket. 

"Thank you, dear." She musters a smile. "But I think I’ll grab a cup of tea from the kitchen."

He knows there's no point in offering to do it for her. Once she leaves, the movie holds even less appeal. Bart can usually cajole Jay into playing video games with him if he's that desperate for entertainment, yet he can just as easily text Jaime to hang out. Except tonight Jaime is on a date with Traci, and while Bart loves them both to pieces, he wishes they had better timing, because he is _bored_ to the point of madness. 

His saving grace comes with a text from Arrowette, who's immediately bumped to his second favorite teammate. Bart lights up after reading her message and sprints across the living room. 

"Normal speed in the house, Bart!" Joan chides. 

"Sorry," he says, grinning from ear-to-ear. 

"Where're you rushing off to?" asks Jay. 

"Cissie invited me to a dance," Bart announces giddily.

Already he's got a million ideas rushing through his head. Does he need some nice shoes? Should he borrow them from Tim? Tim seems the type of guy to own a decent pair of shoes. Bart cycles through his in no time flat, and if that's simply by running at hyperspeed, he can't imagine the dent that dancing will do.

Not that he's ever actually danced. Oh shit he doesn't _know how to dance._ Should he call Virgil, too? He's gone to dances before, he's told Bart, who always listened in a mix of rapture and envy, always so floored by how relatively normal their lives are. 

"I've never been to a dance before," he mentions nervously. 

"That's so sweet," Joan coos. "Your first date!"

"Date?" Bart echoes. He considers. "No, I don't think she meant..."

"Don't sell yourself short, son," Jay cuts in. "If a lady asks you to dance, chances are she likes ya. Ain't that right, Joanie?"

"Or, if you're anything like Jay," Joan adds wryly, "she takes pity on your dancing and decides to teach you a thing or two."

"Got me a second date, didn't it?" says Jay, winking at Bart. 

Bart plays along, even though his stomach's twisted up in knots. Which is weird, normally Cissie doesn't inspire that sort of reaction, and he hates that in this moment, she does.

Cissie is his friend. Bart really, really likes her...

Just not in that way.

For some reason, the niggling thought haunts him up to the moment he knocks on Cissie's door, his palms damp with sweat. He wonder she if he shouldn't have simply texted her, except he forgot his phone–

Cissie emerges from the apartment, wearing an orange dress and a nifty pair of bullseye earrings. "You clean up okay, Allen," she surmises, striking a pose. "What do you think?"

"Amazing," he answers, because it's true. She giggles and drags him along, giving him the low-down.

Bart blinks through her debriefing, catching every other word, something about "undercover" and "distraction," barely remembering how to breathe. Not a date, then. A _mission._

"Think you can handle that?" she asks, and Bart snaps out of it, smirks as if he hasn't been zoned out the better part of five minutes.

"Sure, I've got this!"

He doesn't muck it up too bad, despite a daunting lack of awareness. That, or Cissie's so good at what she does that Bart only needs to accomplish the bare minimum (i.e., distract) for her to catch the criminals.

"You were awesome," Bart tells Cissie, who's practically glowing, her bow slung over her orange dress and her heels traded in for a practical pair of flats.

She flushes a bit at the praise, although that could be remnants of the flurorescent lights of the dance floor. "Couldn't have done it without you," she says in earnest. "C'mon, I figure I owe you an ice cream."

Bart freezes, the earlier anxiety shooting to the back of his throat. "L-Like a date?" 

"As a thank you." Cissie frowns. "For helping me out on the mission."

"Right!" Bart hurries to say, chuckling self-consciously. He's going to get emotional whiplash at this point. "I knew that, of course."

He can't put his finger on why it's awkward after that, but it _is_. They walk in silence, each wanting to say _something._ Neither willing to take the plunge. 

"Listen," Cissie bursts like she can't hold it in any longer. She pauses, starts again, the tension seeping through every syllable. "Sorry if you thought this was a date. I guess I could've clarified over the phone."

"No, I'm glad–" Bart begins.

Right as Cissie adds, "It's nothing personal–"

They stop talking simultaneously and if Bart doesn't get this off his chest soon he's going to scream. He gestures impatiently for her to continue.

"–but you're a guy," Cissie explains. "And I don't swing that way."

"Oh," says Bart, dumbly. Then he's practically gushing with relief. "Oh, that's totally crash! Because I don't like you that way, either!"

She starts at his sudden change in mood before smirking. "Rub it in, why don't you."

"No, you look great and everything, it's because I don't–" Bart halts, eyes round with realization. _"Oh."_

His brain has finally caught up to his mouth. On average, it runs at least ten seconds behind.

Cissie's jaw drops. "Did you just–?"

"Yeah," Bart affirms, dazedly. "Yeah, I think I... Connected some dots, finally. Haven't had a chance, what with the..."

"Vigilantism?" 

"Alternate future apocalypse."

She does double-takes at that, going through the mental gymnastics it takes to accept that. 

"Welcome to the club," she says lamely, raising her hand. Bart reaches for a high-five but her grip holds tight, and they stay like that, hands swinging together as they walk. Bart finds he's far more content with it now than the prospect had been at the beginning of the night.

"And I won't tell anyone," Cissie promises quietly. "If you don't want me to. Don't worry."

It's a strange thing to offer, Bart thinks. "Thanks," he says, touched by it nonetheless. "But I don't mind. There's only so many secrets a guy can keep on his own."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eduardo scores a cute boy’s phone number. For professional reasons, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away by everyone's responses so far and glad everyone is enjoying the fic so far! Please enjoy the next 3,000 words of pwr -- pining without realizing.

"Actually going to join us this time?"

Ed shouldn't be so keen to startle Bart. But it's a perk of teleportation that he never could resist. He's learned a dozen expletives in Japanese from sneaking up on Asami alone.

Bart doesn’t jump out of his skin so much as _ripple_. That, and mumble some form of expletive. English may not be Ed's native language but he's more than fluent, and it still sounds like gibberish.

"What exactly is a grife?"

"A swear word I get away with because my grandparents haven’t realized it yet." Bart glares. "So don't blow my cover."

He sounds so genuine, Ed has to laugh. It has the dual effect of earning forgiveness and putting Bart at ease. _Somewhat_ at ease, anyway. 

In hindsight, he should’ve chosen a different approach to Bart. Now he’s identified him as a shrink with a sharing agenda, someone to avoid, and that’s the last thing Ed wants.

Maybe if he could figure out what he _does_ want, the course of action would be clearer. 

The first time they met, Ed had Bart pegged in an instant. Loud, cheerful, and easily goaded. His impression was validated when Bart agreed to take Virgil's new skateboard down a hill, even as he examined it like he'd never seen one in his life. Jaime intimated that he probably hadn't. With that insider info, Tye bet he wouldn't last ten minutes without falling. Others bet he wouldn't last five.

Ed might've won five bucks that day, but it was Bart who laughed the loudest out of everyone when he had his inevitable, spectacular wipe out. It was hard to reconcile the boy who beamed over his skinned knees to the one Ed found outside of his Meta-Human group meeting. The boy held captive by his own uncertainty. 

Perhaps it's a matter of pride. Ed has a knack for cracking the tough nuts, the hard-luck cases. His father, Ms. Morse, and Ms. Lance have all praised his intuition, and he isn't too modest to admit he _does_ have a knack, as it turns out. 

Usually, Ed can cajole even the most reluctant of kids into at least attending a meeting. Bart Allen, the boy who leapt onto a skateboard without a lick of experience, is the first to refuse his invitation. And that just doesn't mesh. First impressions are often wrong, yet how can they be wrong _and_ right? What he's got on his hands now isn't a tough nut, but an enigma. An enigma with flyaway hair and eyes that flare green.

...okay, so maybe pride isn’t his sole motivation.

"So," he says, aiming for casual this time around. "I assume you didn’t come to sample the free refreshments."

"Refreshments?" Bart perks, almost unwillingly. 

"Why don’t you come inside and see?" He jerks a thumb towards the door.

"Nice try," Bart snorts. His eyes flick towards the exit. Before he can make a break for it, Ed steps into his line of sight.

"You got a grudge against me?"

"What?" Vehemently, Bart shakes his head. "No way! Dude, I barely know you."

The jab was mostly in jest, mainly to get a reaction, yet Ed feels relieved anyhow. He doesn’t dwell too long on that. "There’s a way to fix that, you know. You could tell me a little about yourself."

Stowing his hands in his pockets, Bart shrugs. "Not much to tell."

"I find that hard to believe. Interesting guy like you?"

Even superheroes aren't immune to flattery, and the compliment hits its mark. Bart glances away to hide his blush, even as his lips curve, pleased. "For all you know, I could spend my nights doing puzzles."

Curious, Ed asks, "Do you?" 

"On Tuesdays, yeah." The last of the ice breaks at last and Bart's full-wattage smile is his reward. "Joan is tired a lot with the chemo, so I keep her company."

He softens at that. "I’m sorry. Is she your grandmother?"

"Sort of." Another evasive shrug. Then his eyes narrow, electrifyingly green, sending a tingle down Ed's spine. "Hey, wait. I see what you're doing! _Sneaky_. Trying to get me to open up outside of the support group."

"Well, you don't make it easy," he retorts. "You talk a lot, but don't share much."

The observation earns him a grin. It defies his closed-off posture. 

"Just not the most relatable guy. Trust me, amigo."

"Oh, sure. Heard that one before." Ed rolls his eyes. "I hear it constantly. _Nobody could ever understand what I've been through_. Hell, I used that excuse. Because it's just an excuse not to talk. I guarantee if you joined us, you'd find at least one kid who knows what you’re going through."

"I doubt it," Bart scoffs. 

"Want to make a bet?" If nothing else, the challenge gets his attention. "You surprise me, I don't bother you with this ever again. You have my word."

"And what if I win?" 

"You give me your phone number." It slips out before Ed can take it back and now _he’s_ the one flushing.

Bart blinks. "How is that a win for me?"

"I'm an excellent conversationalist," he says lamely. To his relief, Bart laughs. 

"The truth?" he offers, wryly.

"And nothing but," Ed confirms.

Solemnly, Bart nods. "The truth is, I was a victim of meta-human trafficking..."

He preaches this as the first step of recovery. _Acknowledge it happened. Accept that it happened_. No point in ignoring it or wishing away what couldn’t be done. He learned that the hard way.

"...forty years in the future."

Ed, who was nodding along ‘til now, does a double-take. Glances at Bart, completely straight-faced Bart. He uttered it as nonchalantly as everything else. And Ed is disconcerted to find he can’t tell if he’s lying.

"What, I thought you'd heard it all?" Bart teases.

"That can't be–"

"Seriously? Are you about to tell the _time-traveler_ that time travel doesn’t exist?" Bart deadpans. The argument disintegrates on his tongue. "Ask the rest of the team if you want; I’m the real deal. The Flash is my grandfather."

Rumors regarding the Flash's new protégé have circulated through the hero community. Even to outliers like Ed. The answer to those theories simultaneously clears up any confusion and yet raises infinitely more questions. 

_"Eso es loco,"_ Ed mutters. "Meta genes? Sure, why not, that's science. Aliens? Of course, we saw that coming. _Time travel,_ though?"

He stares at Bart, who stares back, just as perturbed. They last for all of a second before dissolving into hysterics. 

"Told you so!" Bart crows, elbowing Ed's shoulder. The contact is brief, and welcome.

"I should have some of you heroes as guest speakers," he says, wistful. "I spend my days trying to convince kids they can still have a normal life. And here you all are, living in pure science fiction, when some of you aren't even metas." 

Grimly, Bart snorts. "Tell them they should be more worried about the trafficking." 

"It’s normal to want normal," Ed maintains. He glances down at his shoes. "I used to believe I'd give anything to be normal again."

Bart tilts his chin, thoughtful. "This seems as close to normal as I'll ever get," he confesses. "My mom said I was born with superspeed."

"A baby speed-crawling?" The mental image draws a smile out of Ed. "Must've been a handful. Unless she was a meta, too."

"She wasn't," says Bart, and suddenly, he's aloof again. Must’ve hit a nerve. "Hey, d'you mind if I go? I promised my grandparents I'd be home."

"Of course," Ed replies, concealing his disappointment. Insisting he stay would be insensitive in the face of his grandmother's condition, which Bart, he realizes – more clever than he lets on – utilized to his advantage. "See you around."

That is his hope, anyway. And then Bart slips away with the breeze, and it's difficult not to believe the goodbye is final, and forever. He spares a moment to look as defeated as he feels.

Just as he's about to go inside and begin the meeting, Bart backpedals into the room so fast he gets whiplash. Literally. 

"Wait!" He makes an impatient, grabbing gesture. "Give me your phone, amigo."

Bemused, Ed complies. Bart types in something at rapid-fire speed. He's delighted to see it’s his phone number. 

"Deal's a deal," Bart winks. Again, he's gone. 

Victory blooms in his chest. Ed's an intuitive guy, and most of the time, it pays off. Not just as a meta-human counselor, but as a gambler. He isn't accustomed to losing bets as thoroughly as he did this one.

Never has he been quite so thrilled about it, either. 

*

*

*

*

"Look alive, Allen." Bart obliges, glancing up from his phone. Cissie models the skirt and tang-top combo, spinning for good measure. "And be brutal."

"Crash. Big fan of the purple," he remarks. "Hey. Why'd we skip and go to the mall, anyway?"

Probably a question he should've asked this morning, when she invited him to Star City. He can't decide if she was unable convince any of the girls to forgo school for the mall, or if it's just another perk of how close they've become, ever since their dual confession. 

"Because I have a date this weekend and nothing to wear. And I’m sure as hell not going to ask my mother to come along," she snorts.

Can’t see any flaw in that logic. "Who's the lucky gal?"

"No one you know," she winks, and turns to try on another. Bart smothers a groan. 

To be fair, this isn't worse than school. But it isn't exactly a thrill. The first couple of outfits were fun. Now the act of sitting still for too long is starting to bore him. For lack of anything better to do, Bart swipes the gaudiest pair of sunglasses he can find, hanging from a nearby wrack. He snaps a quick photo of them on his face and inserts it into his conversation. 

_Thoughts?_

If a guy wins your number in a bet – or, technically, he won the bet – Bart figures the polite thing to do is respond. So he has been. Responding, that is. With gusto. Maybe too much gusto.

But why wouldn't he? Ed is cool, and funny, and he... Bart likes him, a lot.

 _Suits you._ He can picture the smirk on his face _._ _Shouldn’t you be in school?_

Not missing a beat, Bart says _, Shouldn't you?_

 _Home-schooled_ , is the smug reply. _What's your excuse?_

_Team bonding exercise._

_Uh huh. That the superhero term for skipping?_

_For the greater good of all_ , he assures.

He gets a laughing emoji. _Nice reference. Very funny._

_A what reference?_

_To_ _the_ _song?_

 _Right._ Bart is glad he isn’t here to see his flush. Almost two years in the past and he still isn't completely up-to-date. _Right, I know that one. Just not my style_. 

_Well, what kind of music_ is _your style?_

Sweat curves down the back of his neck, dampening his shirt. His mouth’s bone dry.

Ed asked it casually, without any urgency. Yet it feels like a test, one he’s failing. It isn’t a question he can get wrong, he _knows_ that, and yet – he doesn’t have an answer. 

_You’ve_ _listened_ _to_ _music,_ his brain supplies calmly. Jaime plays it all the time when they’re holed up in his room, in desert outside El Paso, doing homework with Traci. Barry sings along, badly, to CDs in the car. Joan has a radio in the kitchen and hums along while she cooks. 

Music is an inescapable part of the present, and Bart prefers it to the silence that so often dominated his Earth in the future. Yet he can’t name a single artist or song he prefers over another.

"Hey, do you–" Cissie reels at his expression. "God, why do you look like the batmobile backed up over your dog?"

Spotting the tight grip on his phone, she blanches. "It isn't Joan, is it?"

Bart swallows, trying to form words. All he manages is a helpless shrug at his phone.

Cissie frowns. "Who're you texting?"

"This guy, Ed..."

Her eyes light up, panic replaced by interest. "Allen, you've been holding out on me," she trills. "Ed, is it?"

"It isn't–" Bart shrugs. "He just wants to get to know me."

"Oh, the horror," she mock sighs.

"He wants to get to know me, but I don't even know me!" he explodes. Other shoppers turn towards the commotion. Cissie shoos them away with a glare. "He wants to know my favorite music, what's next, my favorite food? Do you know what my favorite food was, when I was a kid?"

Wary, she parts her lips to answer. He beats her to the punch.

"Food. It was food." He runs fingers through his hair, tousling it with untapped energy. "I didn't have a favorite until I came to the past. And then Wally gave me a bag of Chicken Whizzees, and I thought, _that's the best thing I ever tasted_. Until we had dinner, and then breakfast, and every meal after. It was so many things I lost count. And I still have no idea what to say."

In a single, swift move that speaks to her prowess as Arrowette, Cissie grabs a hold of his arms and yanks him into the dressing room stall, locking the door behind them. 

"You're going to vibrate through the floor if you don't chill a second." Bart flops to the floor. He presses back against the wall, his heart bouncing against his ribcage. 

"Never a dull moment with you, huh." Cissie sinks to the floor next to him as Bart curls inwards.

"I never expected to make it this far," he mumbles. "So I'm making it up as I go. Only I don't think I can make up a _me."_

For the mission, that was fine. Even to be Kid Flash, it would do. But for a life as Bart Allen? Something tells him being Wally West's replacement won't cut it anymore. It certainly isn't what Ed, or any of his friends, deserve.

Cissie exhales gustily. "Wow, that is–"

"Humiliating?" He muffles his mortification against his kneecaps. "Yeah, I'm super aware."

"You know, a lot of us are making it up as we go along," she says,. "Most of us figure it out, eventually."

"Feels like I'm falling a little behind," Bart admits, though it sounds sort of silly now.

"A speedster running late? Imagine that." He manages a chuckle at that. 

"Let's go to the food court." Cissie slings an arm over his shoulder, dragging him up with her.

"Why?"

"Number one, this place is way out of my price range," she snorts. "And first step to doing things at normal person pace? Start simple. You want a favorite food, that's where we'll find it."

He leaves the room so she can change, much to the horror of the dressing-room attendee.

Cissie loses it when he recounts the look on the woman's face, and while the moment's long past, he feels the need to say it anyway. "Uh, thanks. For helping me out, back there."

"Don't thank me yet." She smiles, looping her arm through his. "I don't need to know what you like to know your appetite. _You're_ buying."

*

*

*

*

"Eduardo!"

Sheepishly, Ed lifts his head from where it was crouched over his phone. This was obviously not the first attempt to get his attention. 

"Dinner," says his father, eyebrows raised. "While it's still hot, por favor."

Before the words are out of his mouth, Eduardo teleports to his seat. His father sighs at the antics and sits across. 

The scent rouses his dormant appetite. He grabs his fork, intent on digging in, "Ah ah. You know the rules," his father chides. "No phones at the dinner table."

Ed flips it over, grumbling.

"Mijo, it was _your_ rule."

"Because you are a workaholic."

"Look who's talking." His protest dies at the sound of his text alert. Ed reaches for it eagerly, but, sensing his father's gaze, hastily sweeps it aside. "Or is it not work-related?"

"No. Well," Ed hedges. "Not exactly. He– It's complicated."

"Is that so?" his father murmurs. "Well, you do have a tendency to drift towards those."

He doesn't phrase it like a detriment. Quite the contrary, in fact, and Ed smiles down at his plate. 

"Guess it's them I relate to most of all," he admits. 

"Your mother was the same."

Ed almost drops his fork. His father so rarely mentions her. Neither of them do.

"She was?" he prods.

"When I met her, Martina wouldn't give me the time of day. The only soft spot she had was for the _gatos_. Our neighborhood was filled with strays, and they were a mean, flea-ridden bunch. Other kids flung rocks or shot pellets to keep them away. Not Martina. She always left out food. Rescued them when she could, though all it earned her were unrepentant claws."

Picturing it in his head, Ed feels a burst of fondness. His mother, proudly bearing the scratches for all to see, a thankless errand that even her beneficiaries resented. To do that sort of work, she must've had an unmovable sense of duty. He may not have the scars to show, but would she be happy, if she knew he followed in her footsteps? Judging by his father's glow of pride, he believes the answer is yes.

Still, he wheedles. "Mama preferred a bunch of smelly _gatos_ to you?"

"I won her over, didn't I?" Eduardo huffs. 

"How?" The question leaves his mouth, unbidden. His father looks amused, and entirely unsurprised. 

"Why, a persistent application of the Dorado charm," he retorts. "Not to mention, I started volunteering at a local cat shelter."

"That made her fall in love?" Ed wavers. 

"If you care for someone, mijo, you make the effort to understand them. And that effort rarely goes unnoticed." 

Ed darts a glance between his phone and his plate. 

"And you will have plenty of time to make that effort," says his father, pointing with his fork. _"After_ you eat."

 _"Sí,"_ Ed agrees. 

He can't really complain, since the meal passes with pleasant conversation, genial inquiries into how each other's days went. It is more than he could've hoped for, two years ago. And these dinners, free of distraction, have done wonders to aid the development of that relationship. With that in mind, after clearing the table, Ed considers his phone. 

Bart's last message lights up his screen, unanswered as of yet. Stomach fluttering in a way that has nothing to do with indigestion, he types his reply. 

_Would you like to grab a bite to each sometime?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed and Bart grow closer, Virgil borrows Traci's detective cap, and revelations all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay on this chapter, I honestly had planned to have it posted way earlier! Then I started a new job, an internship, watching Doom Patrol, and got kind of lazy with writing lol. 
> 
> And I'm not entirely pleased with how this one turned out, but I hope you all enjoy! Next one should be out sooner-ish!

Ed Dorado is an expressive guy.

It's a trait Bart never got to fully appreciate, as the bulk of their interactions have been filtered through text. Now, sitting across from him, straw of the smoothie hanging out his mouth, Bart watches his fry weave through the air as he gesticulates, transfixed.

"We get along, but we don't always see eye-to-eye." At last, Ed pops the fry into his mouth, talking as he chews. "I lived on my own with just other teenagers for _months_. How am I supposed to take a 10 o'clock curfew seriously?"

"Think that's awkward?" Bart scoffs. "I held my dad and aunt as newborns. Imagine how weird _that_ is."

"You don't actually call him dad, do you?"

"Now you sound like Grandma Iris," he huffs. "What should I call him: _Don?_ I can't call my dad by his first name!"

"What's he supposed to call you?" Ed ponders.

"Are you picturing–" Bart snickers. "A toddler running around, shouting at me?"

"Get this diaper changed or your grounded!" 

"Stopstopstop," he protests, his chest spasming. "That is a grown man voice!" 

"He's your dad," says Ed, shameless.

"Yeah, and he's a baby!"

A couple drifts past, grimacing at the overheard conversation. He and Ed make brief eye contact before bursting into laugher. 

"Mall closes soon. Guess we better scram, too," Bart admits. "Plus, you can't miss your _curfew."_

Ed smirks. "And what about yours?" 

"Not too whelming for a kid with superspeed." He shrugs, polishing off the chili fries.

Reaching for the tray, Bart freezes at the gentle grip on his chin, heart thudding against his chest. But it isn’t fear. It isn’t the instinct of a prey animal, caught and collared. It’s warm, and weightless, this feeling that pools in his stomach, spreading to his cheeks and filling them with heat.

The feeling intensifies when Ed’s thumb brushes his skin, just missing his lips. 

"Sorry. You had a little– uh, chili." Ed gestures to the corner of his mouth, his own face red. Bart traces the spot his fingertip brushed a moment ago, still hot from his touch.

His brain seems to have shut off, so he rides the bubbly sensation as it surges through him, inflating his smile. "Thanks, amigo!" 

Beaming, Ed falls into step aside of him. "So will I see you in Star City this Friday?"

"'Course. Miss M made it mandatory for everyone who isn't busy." After saying this, Bart feels the need to clarify, "Even if she didn't, I mean, I wouldn't miss it!"

Ed looks unaccountably pleased. "I'll see you there," he says, brightly. "You and the rest of the team, that is."

"Right. Rest of the team, and me. And you," Bart babbles, tongue tripping over itself in excitement. "Crash."

As far as he was concerned, the weekend couldn’t start soon enough.

*

*

*

*

"Glad to have you all here on your day off!" At his yawn, M’gann tops it off with a wry, "Early as it is."

Virgil chuckles, a little sheepish. Actually, he’s psyched for today. Volunteering at his pop’s youth center was cool, but an event where he specifically gets to show off his superhero skills? 

"Our mission today is to just be yourselves." It is literally the most cliché school counselor line in existence but, well, she is a shapeshifting _alien_. If anyone can pull it off, it's Miss M. "Demonstrate to these kids how amazing being a meta can be."

"Shouldn't be too hard." Virgil shoots a grin to his left, but the space where a speedster once stood is empty. "Bart?"

Traci points. Whether it’s the mystic or the detective in her, she’s oddly accurate in estimating Bart’s location.

Following her gaze, Virgil spots Ed in the distance, his back turned, a shiny red apple in hand.

No, no, Bart wouldn't– okay, he totally would. Dude was a known food-snatcher.

Just as predicted, Bart appears at Ed’s side, stealing the apple with a jovial, "Yoink!"

Except Virgil knew better and Bart didn't, or didn't care, but Ed was not the type of guy to let that go, and would definitely retaliate–

–with a lighthearted smile?

"Here for the free refreshments, huh?" he teases, and Bart laughs, like it's some inside joke. With a flash of light, Ed materializes right in front of the speedster, swiping back his food. "Too slow!"

Off-balance, Bart teeters, only to be caught by a grip on his shirt. Ed sets him back on his feet, their bodies inches apart.

"Have to be faster than that to sneak up on me," he chuckles.

Virgil glances around. Was he the only one seeing this?!

Evidently not. M’gann observes the pair from a thoughtful distance before clearing her throat. "Hey, Ed! I've got to meet with your dad. Would you mind putting these guys to work?"

"No problem," he calls back. Pointing at the four of them, Ed says, "Why don’t you start at the volleyball court? Normal rules of the game apply, except using your abilities is fair, and encouraged."

Cassie grins. "Two on two?"

"You're so on," Traci rejoins, giddily grabbing hold of Cissie. 

"Hey, what about me?" Lashes lowered, Ed regards Bart, seeming almost... _coy?_

"Why don't you help me finish some preparations?"

And instead of complaining, as is his wont when things aren’t fast-paced enough, Bart _agrees_.

"Lead the way, amigo!"

Stunned, Virgil watches them walk away. "Well, that was a thing," he says aloud. 

"So _that's_ Ed," Cissie murmurs. 

Virgil stares at her. "You know Ed?"

"I don’t," she smirks. "Bart does."

"Since when?!"

"Since they’ve been texting almost nonstop for the past two weeks," Cissie reveals. 

Traci nods. "Okay, that explains all the flirting."

"Flirting?!"

"Did you not notice?" she deadpans. Virgil doesn’t reply, his head too busy spinning. Ed liked _Bart?_ Ed was flirting with Bart? And _vice versa?_

"How come you never told us they had a thing?"

"What’s said in a dressing room stays in the dressing room," Cissie replies flippantly.

"Excuse me, what?" The girls start toward the volleyball court. Cassie yells over her shoulder, "V, c'mon! If you're on my team, you better get your head in the game!"

He shakes himself out of it, sprinting to catch up. _Right_. Focus. Game first.

Interrogate his friends later.

*

*

*

*

"Angela, please!"

The girl, who was probably around his age, tossed a golden lock of hair over her shoulder as the older woman at her side went on. If her bored expression was anything to go by, it was all in one ear and out the other.

Bart watches the exchange, because Ed is watching, intently. His vested, potentially romantic interest in this _Angela_ twisted Bart’s stomach into a queasy knot.

Ed glances sidelong and catches his stare. "She’s a regular at my meetings," he tells Bart, and to his relief, Ed doesn’t _sound_ infatuated with her. "I think that might be her mother?"

Wanting to lift his spirits, Bart tries for optimistic. "That’s good, right?" 

"About the most we can hope for, until the Youth Center’s officially up and running," Ed answers, a hint of forlorn in his voice. "Miss M encouraged a lot of kids to invite their families. Those who would come, anyway." 

"Yeah, she mentioned that to us, too," Bart affirms. "Donnie and Dawn would run wild at a place like this, though, and I..."

He stops just short of the truth. Embarrassed to he never mentioned it to Iris at all. Truth is, Bart wanted to be able to spend time with Ed without chasing after the tornado twins–

_"Bart!"_

No sooner does the thought cross his mind that he hears the shout. However, it doesn’t belong to either of the twins.

Milagro launches herself at Bart, arms wrapped around his middle. "Hey! What are you doing here?" he exclaims, returning the hug at full-force. "Where's your brother?"

"Getting me a snow-cone." She peeks around Bart, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Is Wonder Girl around? He said she'd be here."

"She's playing volleyball." 

Ed grins at her audible disappointment. "And who's this?"

In her single-minded search for Cassie, Milagro must not have noticed him. When she looks up, her eyes go wide, her cheeks flushed pink.

"Uh. This is Milagro," says Bart, since she's suddenly clammed up. "And this is Eduardo."

"You can call me Ed. All my friends do." He kneels down, eyes sparkling. "You're Jaime’s _hermanita_ , no? Tye's mentioned you before."

All she manages is a star-struck nod.

"Milagro, here!" Jaime jogs over with her cone in hand, waving with the other. "Hey, guys!"

Breaking from her trance, Milagro tugs at Jaime's arm. "Can we watch Wonder Girl play volleyball? You said you'd introduce me!"

"No thank you?" he mutters, yet it's all good-natured, even his sigh. "Which way to the game?"

Ed jerks his thumb in the direction of the court. Before Bart can say he'll meet up with them in a bit, Milagro grabs his arm, pulling him along. "C’mon, weirdo!"

"I–" Bart twists over his shoulder, shrugging helplessly. "I’ll catch you later, I guess?" 

_"Seguro,"_ Ed promises, and is it his imagination, or does he sound as frustrated as Bart feels?

Once they're safely out of earshot, Milagro sighs dreamily. "That was the prettiest boy I've ever seen," she confides.

"Yeah," Bart remarks absently, missing him already. 

*

*

*

*

With his extra set of hands dragged off by Jaime and his little sister, the preparations don’t go as fast (or _fun_ ) as they could have, but Ed manages fine on his own. He finishes the last of it just as Virgil struts by. "I take it you put on quite the show," Ed accepts the proffered high-five. "Who won?"

"Me and Cassie, of course," Virgil preens. "Speaking of dream-teams, where're Tye and Asami? Didn't you convince them to come?"

"Running late," he replies, eyebrows raised skyward. "Apparently her _parents_ are in town."

"Trust me, I heard. I swear, they are one item off a domestic checklist from sending us a Christmas card."

"In matching sweaters," Ed chuckles

"So," Virgil drawls, nudging him with his elbow. "While we're on the subject of couples... What's the deal with you and Bart?"

After the interaction they had earlier, he shouldn’t be surprised by the questions. Still, it’s a double twinge of shock and thrill, them being referred to as a thing, cementing it as real.

"Deal?" He plays dumb. "We're friends."

"Friends. Right," Virgil echoes, uncertainly. "Bart is friends with everyone. He doesn't typically stare at them all with heart eyes and flirt. Neither do you."

"Like you said. He's friendly with everyone." 

"Dude. C'mon." His expression is a cross between a glare and a plea. _"We're_ still friends, aren't we?"

The desire to be combative all at once subsides. "Full disclosure?" Ed huffs. "Whatever we are, it isn't...definable yet."

"You want it to be?" Virgil shrugs. "I could drop a few hints. Be your wingman."

Ed can't help it. He laughs. "Aren't you the one complaining you haven't had a date in-?"

"Hey, man, you try dating on a hero's schedule," Virgil retorts. "Unless you date someone on the team, it is _not_ easy. What am I saying, you'll see. Next time you want to hang out with Bart and it's oh, sorry! I'm fighting giant robots in Siberia. Or in Vtlava, tracking down a terrorist cell! Or–"

"Do you need to talk, hermano?"

"About my love life? Nah. _Yours_ , however," Virgil jabs his finger into Ed's chest. "We've got plenty of time to discuss that."

*

*

*

*

They hear Milagro's gasp before they spot the girls. When Traci notices beckons her over to meet Cassie and Cissie, she doesn't hesitate, abandoning her snowcone with Bart – at the high-risk of having it disappear before she gets it back – and leaves them in the dust, which, fair enough.

Jaime doesn't seem all that inclined to dash after her, and in a rare turn of events, neither does Bart. He keeps up the silent, leisurely pace, his thoughts drifting elsewhere. He can't resist wondering what Ed is doing, yet that rabbit-hole only makes him wistful, and a little... well, he doesn't really have a word for it. 

Resentful isn't right, even if it sort of fits. He's resentful, with nobody to resent. Sure, he didn't plan on the interruption today, but he can't find it in him to be annoyed with Jaime's kid sister for wanting him around. 

If anything, Bart is confused. He should be _ecstatic._ He adores Milgaro and Jaime is his best friend. Why wouldn't he jump at the chance to spend some extra time together?

A nudge to the rib draws his gaze down, where the half-melted snowcone is leaking delicious blue sludge onto his knuckles

"Shoot," says Bart, licking the edge of the cone and wiping the excess on his pants. 

"I've never seen you let _any_ food get to the point of melting." Jaime cocks his head, then asks, plainly, "You mad at me?"

"Mad? Wha– No!" Bart reels. "Why would I be?!"

"Because I pushed too hard with the group meeting?" Jaime suggests, tentatively.

"Oh, dude. That was forever ago." Or, well, it was three weeks, tops. Practically a year in speedster time. 

"Yeah, and we haven't had a chance to really talk since..."

"Uh, wrong. We texted about the new Space Trek when it aired on Thursday"

"Doesn't count if it's in the groupchat. And so besides the point." Jaime sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't mean to push you then, but I meant what I said: I think the meetings would be good for you. I just wasn't completely honest with why..." 

Bart furrows his brow. It isn't like Jaime to withhold the truth; they had a strict honesty policy in this friendship. Bart can't always honor it, for obvious and spoiler-y reasons, but this was the one relationship where he risked telling the truth whenever he could.

"Look, I know Traci and I have been spending more time together as a couple," Jaime begins. 

"And I love Traci, she's crash!" Bart tries to interject, only for Jaime to shush him.

"–I knew we need time alone as a couple, which cuts out time as friends short. Plus we each have school, and the team, and with everything happening with Joan–"

They wince in unison. It was easy for Bart to forget the ripple effect of her illness, how it would spread to others, not just be contained by him and Jay. Easy to forget that Jaime had a soft spot for the woman who dug out cooking magazines in search of a proper tamale recipe, simply because Jaime was coming over for dinner, and Bart had mentioned it was a favorite.

"I guess, I wanted you to know that, even if _I'm_ not going to be around as much, you still have people. People who can understand your situation." Jaime gestures vaguely. "Aside from, er, the time travel."

Bart musters a smile. It never ceases to amaze him that he used to fervently wish for a world without the Blue Beetle, when now, he can't imagine a world without him.

And it's sweet, the way he's looking out for him, if not almost an exact replica of what Ed told him two weeks ago–

"Whoa," Jaime cries. "You have this terrified, epiphany expression on your face and it's freaking me out. What is it?"

"I-I–" Bart stammers.

Something has fallen into place. Something that made sense of all the excitement, the confusion, the deep-seeded ache in his chest when he thinks of Ed, his smile, his eyes and how they glitter in the light of the mall food-court or the midday sun of Star City. 

He gulps. "I can still tell you anything, right?"

Jaime nods. 

Gripping his sleeve, Bart leans forward, whispering in a panicked rush, "I think I have a crush on Ed." 


End file.
